


you've got a pretty kind of dirty face

by zouee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bank Robbery, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hostage Situations, M/M, zayn's a little bitch who follows liam's orders and takes louis hostage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 05:59:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2377388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zouee/pseuds/zouee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“what are you gonna do, zayn?” louis asks him, now noticing his lack of breath in his voice. he glances down towards zayn’s gun. “you gonna shoot me?”</p><p>-</p><p>louis' a bank teller and zayn's a thief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Louis watches the clock hands in front of him tick in perfect unison. He wishes they would just hurry up—speed the tempo so that the short hand would reach the three already. Five minutes. It’s not long, but a nine hour shift has gotten him itching underneath his skin, becoming impatient, losing his strength to smile at each and every customer.

He drums his fingers against the bench. He huffs out a breath and his co-worker turns to him, gives him a look as if to say suck it up, Louis, I’m here for another hour.

Looking at the clock again, he supposes he should just suck it up. What’s he got to be excited over, anyway? A short drive home, then what? A night in front of the television with takeout and absolutely nobody to talk to? Exhilarating, he thinks. And completely ritualistic, also. He realises he’s not that thrilled to be finishing up, but the edginess of yearning towards something makes him feel like he _should_ be thrilled.

Always reaching for something—waiting, waiting, waiting.

“Excuse me, sir?”

A voice pulls Louis out of his thoughts. He locks eyes with an old woman in front of him, placing a full bag of coins on the bench that separates them. She smiles politely, and Louis smiles back. “What can I help you with?”

“I was wondering, dear, if I could convert these coins into notes?” She pushes the bag slightly forward and her smile grows, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth becoming more evident. “You see, I’ve been collecting these for quite a while now and I think there’s enough to change.”

“Of course, love.” Louis replies, picking up the bag, “Won’t be a second.”

He turns to the scale behind him and switches it on.

The light from the window above the clock is slowly being covered by the clouds, making it seem much later than it already is. The lights that shine from the ceiling become harsher without the natural sunset shining through. Louis watches as the second hand ticks. Two minutes.

The scale beeps, telling Louis that it’s ready. He sets the bag of coins on top, watching as the numbers switch and change quickly, until finally resting on a total number. He opens a drawer filled with cash and counts the correct amount that’s displayed on the screen. Wrapping an elastic band around the wad, he involuntarily glances at the clock again. One minute.

“Here you go, ma’am. Have a lovely night.” Louis tells the elderly woman, handing her the cash. She thanks him and says her goodbyes. As soon as she turns her back to leave, Louis shuts his window, sliding down the door and locking it. “Home time!” He claps joyfully, earning another glare from the same co-worker.

Louis picks his jacket up from behind his seat with thirty seconds to spare from his shift, but as _if_ anything’s going to happen in thirty seconds.

The window above the clock shuts suddenly, like it does when they shut up for the night. Then the window next to it does the same thing—then the next, then the next, and the next. And before Louis has time to question it, all the windows are shut and locked, blocking out any chance of light from outside.

“What the fuck?” Louis’ co-worker mutters next to him. Louis turns to her and shrugs, frowning.

He opens his cashier window and watches all the customers blink and look around in question, asking each other what’s going on, it’s only three o’clock? 

A light flickers from the ceiling and Louis glances towards it. He doesn’t see the two figures that enter abruptly until he hears the squeal.

“Everybody stay down!”

And that’s when things turn chaotic.

Women start screaming, protecting their children by cuddling close to them, men shout angrily and people start running around frantically but the two figures ignore it all. The old lady Louis served is crouching in a corner, petrified.

The doors are locked, as far as Louis can see. And it’s then, that Louis realises these burglars have rigged the security systems, making the doors locked from inside out.

“Louis,” Someone whispers, resolutely. Louis turns to see the co-worker—someone that Louis really _should_ learn the name of—as she clutches onto his forearm, looking at him wide-eyed, like she’s got a plan. “Try and get somebody to call the police on their mobile. I’ll try with the bank’s phone.”

Louis nods once, and tries to ignore the shrieks of frightened women. He ducks behind the bench and starts to crawl, praying that the thieves won’t see him.

Thirty seconds, he thinks, they couldn’t have waited thirty fucking more seconds.

He notices the screams fading out, as though they’re being silenced somehow. He hears a man, “Don’t you dare come near me with... _that_...” the last words drifting off, like he was falling asleep.

Louis quickens his pace and sees the door that he needs to get through in order to reach everyone else. Knowing his luck, everyone will already be put asleep before he gets there.

He hears a loud bang come from above him.

Or, you know, he could get captured.

Louis stills, and tries his hardest to curl up underneath the bench, hoping that he magically turns into camouflage. A pair of legs swing down over the edge of the bench and Louis swallows. Then the figure jumps down and turns so he’s facing Louis. He can only see the man’s legs and waist, completely covered in black. The burglar rubs his hands together and Louis hears him chuckle.

“Lucky last.” He says. Louis tries not to gasp.

He watches as he brings out some sort of liquid in a bottle and a cloth already stained with the same colour. Louis could react right now—he could kick out his leg and hit him in the groin, or make a run for it and press the emergency button—but, truthfully, he’s stuck. Like a moth to a web, he’s stuck with no will to move whatsoever.

The man in black crouches down directly in front of him, gives him a smile, and places the cloth to Louis’ lips and nose.

Then everything turns black.

 ☯

He awakes with a kink in his neck. He tries to move his hands to rub it, but they’re bounded. Louis blinks wide awake, his eyes scan the room. He’s in one of the middle rooms, but an old one. It’s circular and the walls are all see-through glass. Louis faces the door. All around him are desks and old computers that Louis’ sure they threw out last year.

He hears children crying and sees the same light flicker from the ceiling, the only one refusing to turn off like all the others, creating darkness upon darkness—the only sense of light beaming through the cracks of the shuttered off windows and doors, and the flickering light.

His ankles are bounded, too. And his arse hurts.

“This is fucking bullshit.” Louis groans to himself, leaning his head back from what seems to be a metal pole, the same one that his hands are tied to.

“Got that right,” A voice says beside him.

Louis jumps, trying his best to catch sight of the voice. He turns his head to the left and sees a blonde boy in the same position. He’s looking at him already, with blue eyes and red cheeks.

“Thank god you’re awake now, though.” He continues, “All I’ve had for company so far is this crying mop.”

Louis frowns in question the same time he hears a quiet and offended, “ _Hey_.”

He turns his head to the right and sees another boy with hair upon hair, covering his entire side profile. This one doesn’t meet his eye, and instead keeps his head down.

“Well, what’s your name, anyway?” The blonde one asks, curiously.

Louis fidgets, trying to get into a better position but his hands are stuck and his ankles won’t move and his butt hurts no matter what angle he tries. He glances out the door to the customers looking a lot like Louis and the other two boys—tied around something, three to each, ankles and wrists tied together. He sees a few women’s mouths taped up, that’s probably why the screaming’s stopped.

“It’s Louis, mate.” Louis replies, locking eyes with him again.

“Niall.” He says, and pauses. “I’d shake your hand, but, y’know.”

“Yeah.”

It’s silent after that. He takes in a breath and scans the outside room again. Everybody looks the same. Their eyes cast downwards, nothing but grim expressions, and the few that were angry have given up as the rest of them have red faces—from crying, Louis supposes. He glances to the other side of the room and sees a mother tied up next to her child, trying her hardest to keep her son from crying, even though it looks like she’s about to break down herself.

“I know, baby, I know,” She says calmly, “It’s okay. This will all be over soon, baby, I promise.” But her child keeps spluttering and sobbing into his own chest and Louis can see the broken look on the mother’s face as she so desperately wants to cuddle him but can’t.

Louis exhales and turns away immediately. He shuts his eyes and imagines the clock ticking faster, faster, faster, until all of this is over.

☯

Time passes but nobody knows how long it’s been. There are no clocks, no signs of light from outside, no way to tell the time and it’s driving Louis insane, irritable. He keeps clenching his fists and unclenching, as though he’s worried that the rope around his wrists will cut off circulation.

It’s a very brown and white coloured bank, with hints of off-coloured yellow that Louis’ beginning to hate more than he already does. He wonders what everyone else does for a living, wonders if he’ll ever get out of here and whether he should quit his job if he does or not. Probably. Most likely.  Yes, he’ll definitely quit his job.

“Kind of like a movie, innit, Louis?” Niall suddenly pipes up, his voice way too positive for this type of situation. “It’s like an action film, y’know what I mean? Wish I had the brain of James Bond, though. That way I could save us all.”

He’s kind of soothing, though. Something to distract him from the way everybody looks like they’re attending a funeral.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, “Or like Batman. Or Spider-Man.”

“Yeah!” Niall replies more enthusiastically. Louis can see the smile etched on his face, “That would be sick, wouldn’t it?”

☯

It’s probably a minute that passes but to Louis it feels like an hour. He groans impatiently. Seriously, how long can a robbery take? He’s not sure _why_ he’s impatient, but he’s waiting for something, he knows. Always waiting.

Waiting to be released, waiting for these two robbers to get caught, waiting to exit this _fucking_ bank like he was _supposed_ to a long time ago.

Niall seems to be feeling the same thing, as he mimics Louis’ groan, his head tilting against the pole. Louis’ turns to him, eyes only able to view the side of his face. “Are you good with plans?”

“Man,” Niall says in a breath, “I dunno what to tell you, but, I’ve been staring at this damn glass wall this entire time and I swear I’m seeing it move. The only plan I have is to kick it down.”

“Could try.” Louis suggests.

He feels Niall shrug against his shoulder. Then, a few seconds later, Niall’s thrusting his tied up legs towards the wall. He hits it, but the strength is hardly enough to break it. He does it again, and it creates a sound.

“Don’t.”

It’s soft, pleading, yet short. Niall stops and Louis turns to the boy on his right. The one that hasn’t said a word yet.

“Please.” He says. His head’s down and Louis can see him biting his lip anxiously. “They’ll come back in.”

Louis looks down at his lap. He’s talking about the burglars—he knows; they must have come in while Louis was still asleep. He’s not sure what they did to this boy to make him so afraid, though. If he could place a hand on his shoulder, he would. His wrists tug at the rope but there’s literally no way to release the hold. He looks back at the quiet boy.

“There’s really no need to be scared, mate.” He tells him, calmly. “They won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Louis knows it’s a bit of a stretch—throwing around promises to strangers, but the last thing he wants is for someone to be trembling beside him. Especially not if he can help it.

The boy picks his head up at that. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Louis lies. It’s convincing, though, as this is one of the things Louis’ good at.

Niall snorts. “How could you possibly—“

Louis elbows him discretely in the arm. Niall hisses out a curse.

The boy, oblivious, locks eyes with Louis and flashes him a small smile. Louis returns it.

“’M Harry.” He says.

“Nice to meet you, Harry. I’m Louis.”

Harry nods, “Yeah, I know.”

“So why’re you speaking to him and not me when I introduced myself, hm?” Niall asks, but it’s with good intentions.

Louis stifles a laugh.

Harry turns back to his wall. “Sorry, Niall. Hello.”

“Hey, mate.” Niall replies, as though they’re having a normal conversation. As though they’re not being held hostage in the middle of a bank robbery.

It’s calming, Louis thinks. A bit easier on the stomach, soothing to the brain.

He looks out passed the doorway and makes out the same figures on the floor throughout the complete darkness. The flickering light has stopped and the streams of light that used to shine through the cracks of the door and windows have now been blocked out. It can’t be that late, can it?

Then Louis hears the rain.

“Great,” He sighs, “Now we really don’t have a chance of someone checking in on this place.”

“Well, if you think about it,” Niall says, turning to face Louis, “these people have families, don’t they? They’re gonna want to know where they are. Some of these people _surely_ would’ve told someone where they were headed before they got here.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, “someone’s probably gonna try and find them and figure out what’s happening in here.”

“That’s not a bad point, you two.”

“I know.” Niall laughs quietly. Louis wonders if he’s giddy from the praise.

☯

After a few minutes, the bank fills with the sound of burly footsteps stepping their way. The glass walls are see-through, but they’re also dirty. So when one of the burglars comes into view, he’s more of a black shadow then a person.

He lingers around the main room a little longer, stepping in front of the groups of three one by one, and bending down to check each person’s ropes. He’s hard to make out in the darkness but Louis’ eyes have adjusted enough to make out the different figures.

It’s not long until he reaches Louis, Niall and Harry.

He stands at the doorway, all black and sturdy. He’s got broad shoulders and arms that bulge through his long-sleeved shirt. Louis feels the two body’s beside him tense up rapidly. He tries to remain calm. Louis recognises him as the one that put him to sleep.

“You guys alright in here?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Louis swallows harshly and nods.

He stands at the doorway for a few more seconds before deciding not to trust Louis, and steps in anyway. He kneels down and checks each of their ropes, pulling tightly and shaking it. Louis tries not to react at how much it hurts—he never wants to show weakness, especially in front of someone that could possibly kill him in a heartbeat. Louis rids that thought as soon as it comes.

“Good.” The burglar says, more to himself.

He stands back up and walks towards the doorway, only to be met with his partner.

The partner is smaller than the other one, not as broad or as tall. He’s rolled up one of his sleeves, revealing his olive skin that’s coated in tattoos. “Liam, c’mere.”

Liam notices his partner’s sleeve and yanks it down; a look of disappointment crosses his eyes. “What?”

The other one pauses for a second, looking ashamed at himself, then back to Liam. “There’s a, uh, code on the big safe. Don’t know what it is.”

Liam huffs out an impatient breath, “Then get one of the bank tellers to tell you, yeah?”

“Yeah, but... but I don’t like doing that.”

Louis watches carefully. He knows that the two of them don’t think that they can be seen and he takes that into his advantage. The smaller one looks down at his hands. He’s _afraid_ to ask for a code.

He came into a bank for a robbery and he doesn’t want to threaten someone to tell him something that allows them access to everything they need.

Liam drags a hand over his face and sighs. “Jesus, Zayn, if I knew you were gonna be this sensitive then I never would’ve asked you to do this.”

“I _know_ , but like, I was so confident that this was gonna be successful, so—“

“—it _is_ going to be successful, yeah?” Liam reassures. Zayn nods. “Listen, I’ll go get the code and you... you keep the citizens in check, hm?” Zayn nods again and Liam claps his shoulder, “Good man.”

They go their separate ways and Louis watches Zayn as he watches everyone.

“...Did anybody else... see that?” Niall asks hesitantly.

Louis responds after a while. “Yeah. Weird.”

Zayn scans the room. When his eyes land on Louis’, Louis looks away. He ignores the odd flush that creeps onto his cheeks.

☯

Something sounds like a rip, something tearing skin. Then someone breathing heavily, almost about to cry.

“TELL ME!”

Niall’s breath catches in his throat. Harry brings his knees up to his chest and buries his head against his thighs. Even Louis cringes, his eyes squeezing closed.

Then, softer: “Thank you.”

☯

It’s been minutes before anyone has spoken, Louis’ sure of it.

Harry’s still curled up in a ball, and Niall is oddly quiet. Not even his breathing is heard.

Louis looks around the room, tries to think of something that will ease the mood, just a little bit. He thinks about playing I spy, but, yeah. _I spy... tormented children and tied up, struggling women!_ Then he thinks about playing 20 questions, but that’s sort of hard to do with three people.

Then as Zayn appears at their doorway after doing a round, Louis gets an idea.

“You all good?” He asks, shining the flashlight, startling Harry.

They all nod in sync.

Zayn’s about to leave—Louis notices that _he_ believed him—until Louis decides to make him stay.

“You better check us, though.” He says.

From the reflection of the light from the torch, Louis can see the way Zayn looks at him sceptically, an eyebrow raised. He shrugs anyway and knees down beside Louis first.

Up close, Louis can see his eyes, his mouth, those being the only parts of him uncovered. Zayn’s eyes are cast downwards, towards Louis’ wrists. He balances the torch between his knees, the light shining where he needs to see. His eyelashes blend into the cotton mask, the length of them undecipherable.

Zayn’s hands test the rope around Louis’ wrists. He’s much gentler than Liam.

Louis’ initial plan was to mess around with Zayn, now knowing how weak he is according to the previous conversation with Liam. But, now, he’s so struck with him that it’s almost impossible. Louis blinks.

Though, he notices how Harry seems to have stiffened, not breathing. Niall much the same.

“Still tight.” Zayn mumbles, confirmation for himself.

Louis takes the opportunity, “Perhaps you should make me loose, then?”

He hears Niall suffocate a laugh. Harry does a surprised snort. Well, at least there’s that.

Zayn, however, frowns at him. His eyes lock to Louis’ and Louis has to try his hardest not to turn away again. He’s strong, he knows he’s strong.

Zayn makes an unimpressed, confused sound at the back of his throat. With the light shining on Louis, it makes him feel exposed, and with Zayn’s eyes on him, Louis feels like he might explode. For some reason, it makes Louis feel the need to apologise.

But Zayn finally stands up and walks out without checking Harry and Niall, without glancing back at Louis.

☯

“They’ve taken all our mobiles, haven’t they?” Louis asks, already certain of the answer.

Harry hums in response, telling him yes.

Which means that nobody could’ve gotten a hold of the police. Louis rolls his eyes.

“Well, then, does anyone have _anything_ in their pockets at all?” He tries. He can feel himself losing hope, losing strength not to just give up and cry a little over it all.

Niall shuffles around, then, “Nup, I would’ve felt something.”

“Uh...” Harry says, and Louis watches as he struggles to reach his pocket but his fingers are long enough to dig into them. “I’ve got my lighter?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Niall mutters under his breath.

Louis can’t believe his luck. “Harry, mate, you’ve had a lighter—something that creates _fire_ —this _entire_ time, and didn’t think about mentioning it?”

“Ha. I—uh, no, well—“

“Never mind that now,” Louis tells him, “are you able to light it?”

“Yeah... I think,” He pauses, then the sound of the lighter catching and being lit is heard. Louis can feel the warmth of the flame. It makes him realise how close together they all are. “Yeah, I can.”

“Alright, good.” Louis swallows and makes sure his next few words come out clear. “Now, you need to be _very_ careful, okay? I need you to burn the rope tied around your wrists enough so that you can tear out of them. Can you do that, Harry?”

Harry nods, “I think so.”

He lights the lighter, and soon after Louis can hear the sounds of the rope snapping.

“You’re doing great, Harry.”

“How will I know when I’m almost at my hands?”

Louis tries to look down but he can’t look passed his shoulder. “You’ll feel the fire before it reaches you.”

“I think it’s almost—Ouch!” Harry flinches and the warmth is gone.

Louis scrunches his nose up and waits for the sound of the lighter hitting the ground... but it never comes. He breathes out a sigh of relief. “Be careful, Haz. You’re almost there.”

Harry nods again and the warmth returns. A few more seconds pass and Louis hears the rope fall to the ground.

He lets out a gasp. Louis grins.

“Fuck yeah!” Niall cheers.

“Shh, Niall,” Louis whispers urgently. “They’ll hear you.” He turns to Harry, “Great work, mate. Okay, now—“

Footsteps echo in the darkness. Harry’s eyes widen at the noise and Louis quickly gestures for him to lean back against the pole, eyeing off the broken rope. Harry speedily does as he’s told and pretends to place his wrists like they were and sits on the lighter to hide it.

Zayn stands at the doorway, flashing the light. Louis blinks at it and if Harry was having breathing problems before, he quite possibly needs emergency help now.

“Of course it was you three.” Zayn comments, mostly eyeing Louis.

Louis shrugs and smirks up at him, “What can I say? We’re a loud bunch.”

“Hm,” Zayn looks at him sceptically, and shines a light on both Harry and Niall, who are both deathly quiet. Louis prays that Harry’s broken rope isn’t in his vision. “Looks like it.”

He steps in, ready to check their ropes. A flash of panic shoots through him. “You _just_ checked us, like, five minutes ago. How in God’s name do you think we could’ve changed since then?”

Zayn flashes him the same gaze he gave him last time. “ _Because_ ,” He says, sternly, “Liam told me to.”

He kneels down beside Niall and checks his ropes. Louis keeps his eyes on him. “Seems like Liam’s doing all the bossing around, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, well,” Zayn shrugs, tightening Niall’s ropes. “He knows what he’s doing.”

“You look like you know what you’re doing.” Louis tells him. “I reckon you should be your own boss. Don’t you agree, lads?”

Niall and Harry nod, “Yeah.” “I reckon, too.”

Zayn moves over to Louis. “How about you shut your mouth, yeah?”

“See,” Louis continues, swallowing the small fear he has from that comment. Zayn’s tougher this time with his hands. “Assertive, firm. That’s all you need to be a boss.”

Zayn locks his eyes. “I’ve got a gun in my pocket, just so you’re aware.”

They stay like that. Zayn looks into Louis’ eyes and Louis is so stunned to even move. Then Zayn’s eyes flicker down to Louis’ lips—only for a second—and Louis licks them on purpose, watching as Zayn’s eyes widen the tiniest bit.

“Yeah, but I overheard your conversation with your partner earlier. You couldn’t kill a fly even if you wanted to.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it.” Zayn replies, voice low.

Then he turns to Harry. The room stills and the tension rises. Louis feels his palms sweat.

“Zayn,” He says, anything to make him stop.

And it does, thankfully. He pauses, and looks at Louis quizzically. “How do you know my name?”

“Your little conversation earlier? Yeah, you two should learn to keep your voices down. Anyway, my butt _really_ hurts, Zayn.”

Zayn shrugs, “What the fuck d’you want me to do about it?”

“I was wondering... I don’t know, let me go for a walk, or something?” Louis knows it’s the nerves talking. His mouth his moving but he’s not really sure if his brain is thinking. “Do you know how hard it is on your arse, sitting here for so long on a cold, hard floor, unable to switch positions?”

Zayn doesn’t reply. He just sighs quickly and rolls his eyes. He leaves, and it’s abrupt, but at least he leaves.

“God, he so has it in for you, mate.” Niall says shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yeah, he may hate you but at least he didn’t catch me.” Harry tells him, already moving on the rope tied around his ankles.

“Wait, wait, wait...” Louis says before Harry undoes the last of it. “I think he’s coming back.”

Harry returns back to his position and surely enough, Zayn’s back at the doorway.

With a... Holy crap. He’s holding a pillow.

“Here.” He says, and throws the pillow so it lands on Louis’ lap. Louis glances at it, unable to register what just happened.

Someone who hates someone wouldn’t deliver them a pillow because they complained about being uncomfortable. That doesn’t happen.

“Holy shit.” Niall breathes, only soft enough for Louis to just hear.

Louis thinks Niall’s right.

Zayn turns to go and something pulls in Louis’ chest. It’s a weird feeling, something that he’s never felt before, if he’s honest. It’s almost as though he wants Zayn to stay— _needs_ him to stay. And the feeling in his gut is the worry that he’ll turn and leave and won’t come back.

Which is stupid. It’s utterly stupid. Louis’ going delusional, he’s sure of it.

“Wait,” Louis says. He cringes at how whiney it sounds, at the neediness of it all. But Zayn does stop, and he waits. “How am I supposed to sit on something that’s on my lap?”

Zayn shifts his weight onto the other foot and rolls his eyes. At this moment, it’s certain that he’ll just tell Louis to figure it out, and he’ll leave shaking his head. Instead, like a switch went off in his entire being, Zayn complies and moves towards him.

He picks up the cushion and gestures with two fingers for Louis to lift up. Louis looks at him and expects him to say just kidding, do it yourself, and to hit Louis with the pillow instead.

But, when Louis lifts up his hips, Zayn seems to clear his throat at the sight, and quickly slips the pillow perfectly underneath Louis.

When Louis sits back down, it’s heaven. “Ohh, my God. That is _great_. Holy fuck.”

Zayn clears his throat again and Louis opens his eyes. He realises, now, that he was probably moaning like a porn star. He swallows and avoids any eye contact.

“Thank you.” Louis says softly.

“Don’t sweat it.” Zayn replies, impassive.

He turns and steps out of the doorway. Louis lets out a breath.

“Hey, I want a pillow too!” Niall shouts out at him.

“Share it ‘round, then!” Zayn shouts back, walking off.

Niall scoffs. If he could cross his arms over his chest, Louis reckons he would be doing so.

Harry reacts right away. Louis sort of feels like an idiot now for prolonging the escaping process by keeping the one person here who is preventing them from leaving.

“Alright, me next.” Niall says. “Louis got the pillow; he doesn’t get the first release.”

“Well, he has got a point there, I must admit.” Louis tells Harry.

They all manage to be untied shortly after. The release almost seems too unreal, the places where the rope was digging into his wrists feel like they should be there still, like the feeling when you take off roller-skates after being in them for so long. He rotates his wrists and ankles a few times, and then notices Niall and Harry staring at him expectantly.

Louis quirks an eyebrow in question.

“So?” Niall asks him.

“Where to next?” Harry elaborates.

Louis looks at the doorway, “Uh,” he hadn’t thought this far through yet. “I guess we look for a phone? Get a hold of the police?”

“Yeah, good plan.” Niall says.

“But how can we find a phone in pitch black? I don’t know about you guys but my eyes have only adjusted to make out figures and like, eyes and teeth and stuff.”

“I know where the phone is, we just have to get behind the desk.” Louis tells them.

“Wait,” Niall says, frowning, “you work here?”

“Yeah. That a problem?”

Niall shakes his head.

“Right, now. Follow me.” Louis gets on his hands and knees and the two follow suit. He crawls to the doorway as the others fall behind a little bit. He hears something to the right of him and holds up his hand, telling them to get ready to go back to hostage position.

“Liam, we almost done?” Zayn calls.

“Yeah, mate, few more bags to go. Wanna start bringing them out to the truck?”

Good, they’ll be busy.

Louis drops his hand. “Alright, let’s go.” He crawls out of the small room and turns left towards the benches. He can vaguely see where he needs to go and he prays that Harry just sticks to the path and doesn’t bump into anything or make any other sound.

He looks around and sees the other people watching them but they don’t make a noise. He feels deeply sorry for the women who have tape across their mouths; he couldn’t imagine the uncomfortableness of it all, plus being unable to talk.

Louis spots the bench almost right in front. He glances behind him and sees Niall looking at Louis’ feet, following. Harry remains shortly behind Niall.

They make it behind the bench safely.

Louis spots the phone on the wall. If he stands up, he’ll be caught. If he tries grabbing the headset whilst on the ground, he could accidentally make more noise than necessary.

“Niall, I need you to do something for me. I need you to poke your head out and see where they’re at, if they’re busy, if they’ve got their backs turned.” Louis whispers to him. Niall nods obediently.

He sticks his head out for about five seconds, then reports back to Louis. “They’re still carrying bags. Neither of them are facing this area, the bloody bastards. Probably too caught up in all the cash.”

“No, that’s good. Alright, I’m gonna get the phone and bring it down straight away.” Louis says. He makes a move to stand but he gets pulled down. He sees Harry’s hand on his shirt, grabbing on. “Hey, what was that for?”

“The numbers are on the wall. You’ll have to stay standing to punch in the cops’ number.” Harry tells him.

Louis looks at him mockingly, “Oh, alright, ‘weak eyesight’. Thanks for telling me, though.”

Harry smiles sheepishly and dips his head. If the lights were on, Louis’ sure he’d be blushing.

Louis takes in a deep breath and asks Niall to do what he did before. “All good?”

“Yeah, so far so good.”

Louis stands, suddenly feeling way too exposed. But he grabs the phone immediately and punches in the three numbers on the wall.

Before he could even bring the headset to his ear, the following events happen too fast.

“Wait, Lou—!”

“ _Hey_!”

Louis turns his head, sees Liam and Zayn pointing and calling. Sees Niall and Harry still on the floor, still waiting for Louis’ order.

“Guys, move! Fucking run!” Louis tells them just as Liam and Zayn start running.

Louis drops the phone and bolts. He runs passed the benches, passed his own, tries shutting the windows in case Harry and Niall want to hide instead. He runs to the front of the bank, leaping over hostages’ feet and dodging them all. He tries the door, which is bolted from the top, but tries anyway.

“Piss off, wanker!” He hears Niall shout. They’ve run a separate way, both of them where Zayn and Liam were when they found Louis. Did they run directly towards them?

Louis doesn’t have time to think about their risk of being a distraction before he sees a figure running his way. Louis runs towards the left room, somewhere that nobody knows exists but him. He plans on getting in there, shutting the door and locking it until these two criminals are finally caught and people are rescued.

Though, he didn’t plan on _one_ of these criminals to be as fast as they are. Louis slides open the door, ready to lock it right away, before the black figure leaps inside as well.

Fuck, Louis thinks.

“Get back to your spot.”

His chest feels lighter when he notices Zayn’s voice. Thankful that it’s not Liam.

“No.”

“Get _back_ to your _spot_.” Zayn growls, stepping closer.

“What are you gonna do, Zayn?” Louis asks him, now noticing his lack of breath in his voice. He glances down towards Zayn’s gun. “You gonna shoot me?”

He doesn’t expect a pair of hands to wrap around his neck. Louis thrashes, he attempts to whack Zayn’s hands away but Zayn’s grip is strong. He’s strong in the way that he couldn’t be ripped off no matter how hard Louis tried, but not in the way that it hurts. He’s hardly pressing onto Louis’ neck with his thumbs, more so just holding him there, far from strangling.

They turn around and Louis hits one of the steel sliding doors.

“Get the fuck off me.” Louis spits. Zayn doesn’t reply, just stares at Louis and squares his gaze.

The door Louis’ pressed against suddenly opens and they stumble back into the room. Zayn’s hands still fit around Louis’ neck and Louis tries to kick his shins but Zayn’s too quick. He throws his hands around Zayn’s neck instead and turns around to press _him_ up against a wall.

But Zayn’s quick to react.

He releases his grip around Louis’ neck to grab onto Louis’ shirt instead and pushes him off with such force that Louis lands on the floor.

“Fucking wanker.” Louis mutters.

Zayn steps off the wall towards him and the door automatically and forcefully slides shut. Louis takes a second to look around. He notices the pile of cash stacked up at the farthest side of the room and his stomach drops.

“Oh, no.” He stands up immediately and notices the red button behind Zayn, the one that he must’ve pressed. “Oh, no, no, no.”

He tries the door, maybe it’s faulty this time. He musters up all his strength to slide it back open but it’s fixed shut, of course it is.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Mind telling me what the freak out is for?”

Louis glares at him, “We’re locked inside, you moron. Doesn’t take a lot to figure that one out.”

Zayn looks at him bewilderedly. He shoves Louis out of the way and tries to open the door himself, but, of course, it doesn’t budge.

“Holy shit.” He says, voice now slightly echoing around the tiny, steel covered room filled with money. “We’re trapped.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

He looks at him with something familiar in his eyes—something that Zayn hadn’t figured out yet. Fear, maybe? Anxiousness? Worry? It seems misplaced, sort of, like it’s not _supposed_ to be that in this boy’s eyes.

But he kind of has a reason to, doesn’t he? They’re trapped, fucking trapped, inside a small room with one door that has locked shut. There’s light in this room, at least. One window that illuminates the entire room.

Zayn reacts instantly, patting down the walls, looking everywhere frantically trying to find at least _one_ emergency exit. He can only search two walls, though, as one is occupied by the stupid door and the other is filled with wads of cash. He glances up at the window. It’s barely big enough for Zayn’s head, doesn’t even look like it opens anyway.

He whips out his phone and calls Liam. He huffs out an annoyed breath. No signal.

He looks back at the boy, already sitting down by one of the walls and aimlessly picking at his fingernails. Giving up. He’s given up on trying to exit. Why? _Why_? Zayn rolls his eyes, giving up isn’t in his nature.

Though, the door won’t budge a single bit. It’s like trying to slide open a steel wall. He bashes against it—first with his hands, then with his shoulder. He walks back a few steps, enough to gain speed, and then jumps up against it with full force. He doesn’t even move the hinges.

“Fucking _hell_ ,” He mutters under his breath. Finding a small crack in the door, he presses his face against it then yells at the top of his lungs. “Liam! Liam!” He bashes against it once or twice more. “Liam!”

“Bloody hell, would you stop?” The boy says angrily. “This whole place is soundproof. _Liam_ won’t be able to help you.”

He stands up and rubs his palms together, strolling through the room like it’s a fucking holiday. Zayn watches him as he sits down on a pile of money, picking up a wad and flicking through it.

Zayn blinks. “Aren’t you even a _little_ stressed?”

The boy doesn’t meet his eyes. Instead, he just keeps flicking through the wad back and forth, gazing at it like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. Then, he shrugs. “No, not really. I know that the police will be here any time soon—“

“They won’t be.” Zayn interrupts, feeling his palms sweat in his gloves.

He meets his gaze. He looks at Zayn differently, like he’s trying to figure something out. It makes Zayn feel exposed.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Zayn.” The boy says simply, hopping off from where he was sitting. “But, in normal towns, crime gets around. There’s a fair amount of people you held hostage here, Zayn. You don’t think that any of them are capable of speaking?”

Zayn swallows. He knows Liam told him that there would be no way that they’d get caught while in the middle of the robbery. Zayn didn’t even think about the aftermath.

“Who’s to say they’ll find us in here?” Zayn asks, getting back to his original worry. He doesn’t like this boy already.

“True.” He says, moving about the room. He’s collecting amounts of cash and placing them in different places. Zayn doesn’t know why but then again, he’s not really paying attention. “I mean, I _am_ , really, one of the only people in the bank that knows this place exists. We could be in here for a _long_ time.”

Zayn doesn’t know how to respond to that. He backs up against a corner, furthest away from the boy, and slides down it until he hits the floor. He brings his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, vowing in his head to stay like this until he’s found. Put him in jail—he doesn’t care. As long as Liam escaped with the money, that’s all that matters.

He hears a laugh. “You actually look like a proper ant right now. Small and black. I could squish you.”

“The only small one here is you, actually.” Zayn responds, looking at his knees. “Could’ve destroyed you back there—“

“Then why didn’t you?” The boy asks. Zayn hears him moving, hears him walking towards him. The boy sits directly in front of Zayn, ruining any form of personal space. “And why did you give me a pillow and not the other boys? You like me or something?”

Zayn picks his head up and looks at him, frowning. He’s never heard anything so bizarre. As if he’d like a boy this annoying and loud and smiley with eyes that keep _looking_ at him like that, so blue and full of wonder—

“No.” Zayn replies bluntly. Something flutters briefly in his stomach. He ignores it.

“Then why?”

“Drop it, would you?” Zayn snaps. He stands up and begins to walk away. “Why are you so curious and nosey all the time?”

“Not gonna get answers if I don’t ask questions, am I?” Louis points out. Zayn wants to strangle him again. “Besides, as I said, we might be here for a while, so, why not get to know each other?”

“Don’t wanna know you.” Zayn says.

He knows he’s being harsh; he’s not usually like this. But in order to make this guy shut up, make him not know Zayn’s identity or try and push harder to ‘get to know him’ then he has to be firm, doesn’t he?

The boy exhales dramatically, eyes wide. “Wow.” He holds up his hands up defensively, like a form of surrender. “If you’re gonna be like _that_ , then—“

“Don’t take it personally.” Zayn tells him, taking off his gloves, getting sick of the sweaty feeling. You can’t tell a person by their hands, right? No, you can’t, that’s what Liam said. “Just don’t want you knowing who I am.”

“No, no, I totally get that.” Louis says, sincerely. He eyes off Zayn taking off his gloves. “You know, when we get found... They’re gonna automatically know that you _are_ one of the burglars, right? I mean, with all that get-up, like.”

Zayn remains silent. He sits with his back against the pile of money and brings his legs up but not entirely up to his chest, hanging his arms over his knees with his head down. The sky outside is grey; nothing but dark clouds and the sound of rain is still slightly being heard, pouring down over the roof. Zayn wonders if he’ll be in here long enough to see the sun set and the moon rise.

☯

Minutes pass. The boy’s resorted to counting the money. He’s opposite of Zayn on the other side of the room, counting the money that’s piled on top of each other. It would take him years to count it all.

The rain still pours but it must be humid outside—it’s fucking hot. Zayn looks down at his outfit, black shoes, black socks, black jeans, a baggy black jumper, and his itchy cotton mask. He knows he has other clothes on underneath, but.

He glances over at the boy, already given up on counting. He’s using two wads as spaceships—or something, flying at one another and screaming softly as one of them falls down to the ground.

Zayn catches himself smiling the _tiniest_ bit, and stops immediately.

He keeps his eyes on his shoes.

The boy lets out a frustrated groan. Out of the corner of Zayn’s eye, he sees the boy slumped against the wall, legs sprawled out and his arms lying on either side of him.

“This is so _boring_.” He complains, huffing out a sigh.

“God, I couldn’t imagine spending all that time tied up with you.” Zayn says, imagining how bored he got in such a little room, a lot like this one.

“Hey,” The boy says a little defensive. He sits up properly and looks at him. “I believe that Niall and Harry liked me a lot, thank you very much.”

“Well, then, I’m glad.” Zayn tells him unenthusiastically.

“Why are you so edgy towards me?” The boy suddenly asks. There was no preparation, no sign of his change in mood or anything, just –bam, there it is. “Like, especially towards me, from the moment you first spoke to me, you were like... cold as anything.”

Zayn remembers first seeing him, flashing the torchlight to see the three of them. He saw the brunette on the left avoiding eye contact, scared as hell. Saw the blond one looking at him with such fear and anticipation, like Zayn was some serial killer. Then, he saw Louis, without a show of fear at all.

_“You all good?” Zayn asks, expecting the same answer he’s gotten from every other trio he’s asked. He knows he probably shouldn’t believe any of them, for all he knows they could be lying, but judging by the way each and every face look at him like he’s terrifying—he thinks they know better than to try and escape._

_This trio all nod in response. He thought  so._

_Then, “You better check us, though.”_

_The voice comes from the middle one. He looks at Zayn expectantly, challenging, almost. Zayn shines the flashlight on him, blue eyes staring right back at him. Zayn feels a little taken aback, as he’s the first one that’s managed to look him directly in the eye for more than two seconds. Smart-arse, he thinks._

_Zayn raises an eyebrow, and watches at how the boy’s lips quirk up slightly into a smirk. He shrugs, accepting the challenge._

_He checks the boy’s ropes first, since he was so eager on being checked. He tightens the ropes, just in case, and notices how small and delicate the boy’s wrists look against the harsh and tough rope around them. He sees the red marks on his skin and something like guilt spirals around in Zayn’s belly._

_He clears his throat. He shouldn’t be thinking about the harm of the hostages. Get the money and get out, Liam had said, don’t worry about anything else._

_“Still tight.” Zayn says to himself as confirmation. He leans back and makes the next move towards the other brunette. But before he can even shift a muscle, the boy manages to say something that startles Zayn._

_“Better make me loose, then.”_

He remembers the snickers the boy got from his friends.Classic class clown, that boy. Would do anything for a laugh, wouldn’t he? Even if it meant taking the piss out of anyone he laid eyes on. Would do anything for a laugh.

Zayn remembers looking at him like some sort of creature because who does that? Who has that much courage?

“’M cold to everyone.” Zayn lies. It’s convincing, though, as this is one of the things Zayn’s good at.

“You’re cold, but you’re also kind, aren’t you?”

 Zayn looks at him, side on. “What?”

“I mean, well, I know I wouldn’t have given somebody a bloody cushion ‘cause their butt hurt.” The boy says. Zayn rolls his eyes. Will he stop bringing up that damn gesture? “I would’ve just told them to suck it up, told them that: you’re held in a hostage, mate.”

Zayn shrugs. “Guess I felt sorry for the lot of you.”

“See, that’s what I mean!” He tells him, scooting closer. “You’re not a burglar at all, are you? You’re as weak and scared as all of us, I know it.”

Zayn shakes his head, “And you’re fucking annoying, did you know _that_?”

The boy scoffs. He lies down on his back, bringing his hands up to rest at the back of his head. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to put on this almighty persona anymore. I get it.”

“Whatever clears your conscious, mate.” Zayn tells him.

He gives up and kicks off his shoes to the other corner. He crosses his legs and rests his elbows on his knees, lifting up his mask just the tiniest bit—making sure that the boy’s eyes are still closed—and scratches at his jaw line where he’s starting to sweat.

☯

“Zaaaayn,” He calls. His eyes are closed and he’s still lying flat on his back. They haven’t spoken for another few minutes yet neither of them have moved. Zayn remains silent, instead watching the way the boy’s eyelashes seem to make little shadows on the levels of his cheekbones. He looks away instantly. Then one of his eyes peek open and looks directly at Zayn. And even though Zayn’s already looking his way, the boy just needs to make sure he’s paying attention, doesn’t he? “Zayn?”

“What?”

“Are you bored?”

Zayn leans his head back against the pile behind him and closes his own eyes. “No.”

“God, how are you _not_?” The boy asks, legitimately surprised. Zayn hears him sit up, and he doesn’t have to open his eyes to know that he’s looking directly at him.

Zayn shrugs without opening his eyes. “Any person over the age of sixteen doesn’t get bored after twenty minutes.” He opens one eye to see the boy frowning at him. “Unless you’re you, of course.”

He shuts his eyelids and curves his lips upwards.

“You’re a twat.” The boy replies.

Zayn huffs out a laugh and crosses his ankles, his arms across his chest, and sits back. He could try and sleep, really, he could. If it weren’t for the constant noise.

He really hopes this boy doesn’t join him in jail. He couldn’t deal with him in a small cell.

Although, he does have a nice laugh.

The sounds of _tap tap tap_ echo throughout the room and Zayn tries with all his might not to glance over at the boy. But, to be fair, he can’t pinpoint the noise whatsoever. It’s like something hitting something—no, bouncing—and it sounds different with every bounce. Then, after a few more sounds, the last one comes and something skids across the floor.

Zayn gives up and opens one eye slightly, only to see the boy playing with money like a soccer ball. He hits it on his foot twice then bounces it up to his knee, his chest, then back to his foot to kick into the “goals” made out of money. He figures they’re the wads that the boy was placing around the room moments before.

He doesn’t realise he’s looking at him until Zayn reaches his gaze.

“You a fan of soccer?” The boy asks, juggling the wad against his shoe effortlessly. “I _was_ gonna ask you to play, you know, before you said you didn’t wanna know me, but—“

“I’m good, mate. But you go ahead.” Zayn says as he waves him off.

The boy stops juggling for a moment and just looks at him for a few seconds. Zayn’s about to tell him off for staring but he shrugs and turns back to his imaginary game before he can. Zayn pretends to fall asleep.

Really, though, he’s peeking out from underneath his mask, where his eye holes are, watching him. Not because he _wants_ to, of course, but because he’s trapped with nowhere to go and has nothing else better to do, so.

He watches the boy play soccer in his suit. His tie is loosened around his neck, the buttons up the top are undone and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His suit jacket is somewhere on the floor, Zayn notices, next to his gloves and shoes.

He watches him as he kicks cash up into the air, catches it with his chest, and proceeds to play with it like a ball. A few strands from his fringe have become loose from the rest of it and now flops on top of his forehead with every movement. Zayn scans him up and down once and swallows harshly. Again, he ignores the flutters deep down inside him, and closes his eyes.

It’s no surprise that the images that flash behind his eyelids are the same ones that would be there if he wasn’t pretending to sleep.

“ _Yes_ ,” He hears the boy cheer under his breath, and puts on a commentator voice, “Louis Tomlinson scores once again, earning the victory for Manchester United, and the crowd goes wild!” He cups his hands around his mouth and screams without sound. Then he jogs around in a few circles, cheering, before flopping down onto his back again, lying down like he was a few moments ago.

“It’s Louis, then?” Zayn asks him, though it’s not like he cares, really.

He spots a few droplets of sweat on Louis’ forehead, glistening from where Zayn can see. He must be feeling the heat as well. Then Louis smiles, like really smiles, teeth and everything, before locking eyes with Zayn.

“Yeah.” Louis says, still smiling.

Zayn feels heat reach his neck, a different type of heat, though. “What? Why are you smiling like that?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really.” Louis says, then turns his head to face the ceiling and licks his lips before smiling again. “It’s just that, irony’s a funny thing.”

Zayn remains silent for a few seconds in puzzlement. “I don’t... what are you trying to say?”

“We’re on a first name basis now, aren’t we?” Louis says, getting far too much pleasure from this. “I’d say that’s getting to know each other.”

“Kind of hard to ignore your name when you shout it out.”

“Didn’t have to acknowledge it.”

“Well, I did, so,” Zayn tells him, bringing his knees up again, his fingers pressing against his forehead, “can we move on?”

“Damn, loosen up, will you?” Louis say, letting out a breath and rolling his eyes.

Something burns inside his chest, he frowns and he feels his knuckles clenching. He opens his mouth before he can stop, “No, I won’t, actually. I’m really not in the state to be ‘loosening up’ right now and I have no fucking idea why you’re so chilled anyway. We’re fucking trapped in here for god knows how long and you’re playing fucking football. Insane, you are. Absolutely insane.”

Zayn shakes his head and leans back against the pile again, eyes towards the ceiling. He hears Louis swivel around so he’s sitting in front of Zayn, looking at him for what seems like an eternity before he finally speaks up.

“If you’re worried about Liam, I’d say he got away fine. He’ll be rich, now, thanks to you.” He tells him, softly.

It’s not the reaction Zayn had been waiting for and it throws him off guard. His breath hitches a little when he thinks about Liam. Thinks about where he is right now. He hopes he got home safely, hopes he has enough money now to provide for his daughter, and has enough to pay for his girlfriend’s funeral. Zayn hangs his head. He really hopes—or else this whole day was for nothing. All that planning, for nothing.

“Thanks.” Zayn says to Louis, genuinely.

“No worries, man.” Louis replies, “Don’t be so stressed, yeah? And I’m really just messing around with you most the time, remember that.”

Zayn nods his head and holds Louis’ gaze, showing him a smile. “Okay.”

☯

The tension in the room has sort of drifted—the rain coming down harder than before. Zayn can’t tell if it’s night-time yet or if the clouds have covered the entire sky. The humidity has seemed to have passed and the heat Zayn was feeling before is definitely not as strong.

But his mask is still annoying and it keeps catching on his stumble.

“You know, I can’t take you seriously with that on.”

Zayn looks up at where Louis’ sitting on top of one of the piles against the wall. He’s fiddling with his sleeves and Zayn wonders why he doesn’t just take his shirt off instead.

No—no he definitely does _not_ wonder that.

“I can’t take you seriously anyway.” Zayn tells him.

“I have tattoos, too, by the way.” Louis says, ignoring Zayn’s comment.

Zayn finds himself blushing a little. Good thing he does have a mask on.

“I don’t have tattoos.”

He remembers Liam’s disappointment when he found Zayn’s sleeve up at one point. Tattoos are a dead give-away, god, Zayn, didn’t you know that?

“Sure you do.” Louis says. “I saw them.”

Zayn blinks. He must have been there.

“Do you remember what they looked like?” Zayn asks him, quietly.

“Uh, it was hard to see in the darkness, to be fair.” Louis tells him, “But I remember they looked sick. Wanna see mine?”

Zayn lets out a small sigh of relief. He looks up at Louis and scratches at the back of his head, “Uh, yeah, sure. Why not?”

Louis smiles again and proceeds to slide down the pile like a slide, getting to the floor in less than a second. He sits directly in front of Zayn again. Zayn notices that he likes to do that a lot.

“Alright, here,” Louis says, pointing to a stick figure on a skateboard, “this is me. ‘Cause I like to skate, y’know what I mean? It’s a fun time. Anyway, this one,” a paper plane that’s twirling, “is a reference to a time when I was flying on a plane—“

“I hate flying.” Zayn whispers under his breath. And for some reason it makes Louis grin.

“Yeah, so did the person I flew with! And I told them that the plane does a loop-de-loop.” He shrugs, “they didn’t believe me but I thought it was cool so I got a tattoo of it. Uhh,” He looks around his collection of tattoos, trying to find a good one. He stops at a cup of tea, “this is because I like a good cuppa, obviously. And this one,” a bird, “I got, because, why not? It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

Louis’ looking down at it but Zayn’s looking at Louis. “Yeah it is.” Louis looks back up at him and smiles proudly. Zayn wonders how he can be so cheerful at a time like this. It’s soothing, Zayn thinks. “So, you’ve got so many tattoos, but, how do you pay for them all?”

Louis fakes a gasp, “Are you implying that my job doesn’t pay a lot?”

Zayn immediately feels the need to apologise, “No, I—“

“ _Kidding_ , Zayn. Catch on.” Louis reassures. “No, I don’t know, really. I just save up I guess. Got nothing else to spend my income on, to be honest. How about you?”

“Uh, well,” Zayn says, finding himself smiling, feeling somewhat embarrassed, “my neighbourhood’s a bit... different to yours, you know what I mean? We sorta do a lot of favours and stuff, so. I got all mine for free.”

He finds Louis eyeing off Zayn’s arms. “Can I see them?”

And Louis’ eyes are filled with such anticipation and interest that it makes Zayn feel like he’d be kicking a kitten if he deprived Louis of this. So, he rolls up his sleeve, ignoring the words of protest from Liam inside his head.

“Whoa,” Louis sighs in awe, not hesitating to hold Zayn’s arm in his hand, using his fingers to trail over Zayn’s marked skin. Zayn takes in a breath. His skin tickles at the touch and his stomach sort of flips when he watches Louis’ delicate, soft fingers dance over each tattoo like they’re artworks. “I like this one the most, I’ve decided.”

It’s his _Zap!_ tattoo, and Zayn finds himself smiling in agreement. “I got it because I like comic books, to be honest. I actually thought I could be a superhero when I was younger, how stupid is that?”

Louis shakes his head, “Not stupid at all. I still secretly hope I am.”

Zayn finds himself observing Louis’ face. Up this close, he can identify every eyelash, the perfect slope of his nose, his defined cheekbones and jaw line that’s developing stumble, the pinkness of his little lips and how they’ve parted open slightly. He looks up at his hair, how it seems so soft to touch, the length of it long enough to almost tie up.

Then Zayn catches himself as soon as Louis’ eyes meet his own.

“Uh, yeah, so.” He clears his throat and moves his arm out of Louis’ hand. “When did you say the bank closes?”

“I didn’t.” Louis responds. He leans back onto his hands, seeming to have caught on to Zayn’s sudden change of mood. “We close at four.”

Zayn nods once. He takes his phone out of his pocket and checks the time. “It’s ten past five, now.”

“Huh. I’d probably be ordering food right now back in my apartment.” Louis says nonchalantly. He gets up and fetches his suit jacket. He folds it up and places it on the ground, then lies down on his back again, resting his head on his jacket like a pillow and closes his eyes, his hands laced together on top of his belly.

He looks so soft like this, so vulnerable. It makes Zayn wonder why he ever felt the need to place his hands around his neck.

“Join me, Zayn.” Louis says suddenly, but not suddenly at all. His voice floats through the air like a bird, drifting into Zayn’s ears so alluring and distant.  “We’ll have a nap together.”

Zayn eventually complies. He figures he can take off his jumper, now, since Louis’ already seen the parts of him that he was supposed to keep hidden. He takes it off, revealing the white t-shirt underneath, and folds his jumper up like a pillow, then lies down next to Louis.

He closes his eyes and prepares to sleep.

“Let’s play twenty questions.” Louis suggests.

“I thought we were napping.”

“This can be what puts us to sleep, then.”

Zayn doesn’t have to think about it. “I’ll pass.”

Louis lets out a whine. He rolls onto his side and looks at Zayn pleadingly. “But _Zayn_.”

This time, Zayn can’t ignore the fluttering. He looks into Louis’ eyes and it’s like his brain has turned to moosh—absolutely unable to function at all. Then, he’s saying, “Alright, fine.”

The grin that he gets makes the change of heart worth it, Zayn decides.

He doesn’t think about how easily he’s being persuaded by just one look.

Louis leans back onto his jacket again. “Good man. And I promise, if the questions get too, like, personal or whatever then we stop. It’s on your word.”

“What if the questions I ask are too personal? Would _you_ stop?

Louis hesitates. Zayn opens his eyes and looks at him. Louis’ eyes are closed and he’s biting his lip.

“No.” He says.

Zayn faces the ceiling again, suddenly not wanting to limit himself to darkness.

“You go first.” Zayn says.

“Alright, favourite colour.”

“Uh... I gotta say green.” Zayn tells him. “Um, is Doncaster where you grew up?”

“Yeah, it is. Where did you grow up?”

“Bradford.” Zayn says after a pause. He doesn’t want to wait for the disgusted faces or the snorts of laughter that’s bound to come next so he asks the next question quicker. “Have you got any siblings?”

“Yeah, six. Five sisters and one brother. Why did you decide to help Liam?”

Third question in and Louis’ already digging deep. Zayn’s mind tosses up the pro’s and con’s of answering, the pro’s and con’s of quitting the game. Then he feels Louis’ eyes on him.

“Can I... can I pass?”

“Yeah,” Louis replies, his eyes going soft, understanding. “Of course. Your turn, then.”

They go backwards and forwards like this until they’re on their last questions each. The questions so far have been pretty basic—any pets, any aspirations, what they’d rather be doing right now—Zayn also found out Louis’ single. As did Louis in finding out that Zayn is, too. Not that it means anything, of course.

Zayn wonders if Louis’ ever had a girlfriend before. He wonders if he’s interested in men. From the signals that he’s shooting Zayn, he’s pretty sure that he could be. But, then again, Louis’ words echo throughout his brain _I’m really just messing around with you most the time, remember that_.

“Ooh, my last question, Zayner, are you ready?”

Zayn feels something shoot through him at the sudden nickname. He smiles at it. “Yeah, bring it on.”

“Alright.” Louis says. He sits up and faces Zayn. This makes him nervous. “Why are you so reluctant to pull off that mask?”

Zayn’s about to tell him that he doesn’t want Louis knowing his identity but that really doesn’t make any sense now, does it? He knows every one of his tattoos, he knows where he grew up, knows about his family, knows about what he listens to and what he wishes he grew up to be—he knows more about him than anyone’s ever taken the chance to know.

“I guess there’s... not really any point in me hiding anymore, is there?” Zayn asks him, like he needs confirmation, almost.

Louis shrugs. “Your choice, really.”

He thinks about what Louis said earlier, at how, when the police do eventually find them, they’re going to automatically know that it was Zayn who was one of the burglars. With a get-up like that, he had said. And it’s true, he admits. And for some reason, deep down, he’s certain that Louis won’t tell anything to the police. There’s an odd amount of trust that radiates off the both of them, something that’s been there—been an underlying factor—that’s only risen right now.

“Alright, then. Turn around.” Zayn tells Louis. Louis obeys straight away and shuffles around until he’s facing the pile of money instead.

Zayn rolls off the mask with both hands, sighing out at how great it feels not to be so suffocated. He touches his face softly and balls the cotton mask in one of his hands. He touches his hair, makes sure it doesn’t look stupid, and then throws the mask past Louis, onto the growing pile of discarded clothes.

Louis takes that as an indication to turn around.

He locks eyes with Zayn and his smile slowly falters. Zayn watches as Louis’ eyes scan over Zayn’s features one by one, smile completely gone and instead replaced with a sort of open-mouthed expression that has Zayn laughing.

“Would you like to take a picture?”

Louis shoots his eyes back up from Zayn’s throat to look at his eyes again. “Sorry, but—shit. During those twenty questions I didn’t even think to ask about your occupation. Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were a model?”

Zayn snorts, “Because I’m not.”

Louis looks at him, baffled. “And why the fuck not?”

“Er, I don’t know?”

He’s never really thought about walking down a runway before or posing in front of a camera. He couldn’t handle that sort of spotlight, anyway.

“Yeah, I’m just gonna put it out there,” Louis says, eyes aimlessly roaming over Zayn’s face and body, “you’re fit.”

He says it so casually. As though he didn’t just shoot fifty fireworks off in Zayn’s stomach, making his entire being feel warm despite the cold rain outside.

“You’re, uh,” Zayn says, clearing his throat and avoiding eye contact, “not bad yourself.”

Louis lets out a sound, something that makes it seem like he finds something interesting. When Zayn looks back at him, he sees him smiling. “Ah, so you do like me.”

Zayn scoffs almost immediately. “No.”

Louis giggles—fucking giggles—and returns back to his lying position. “Alright, then, Mr. Model Zayn. I’m going to sleep now. And if you find me close to you when I wake up then don’t blame me, blame your good looks.”

He shoots Zayn a playful wink and Zayn forces out a laugh. He watches as Louis smiles at him before turning over on his side, laying his head on top of his jacket again.

Zayn scans down the dips of Louis’ shoulders, the curve of his waist and the rise of his hips, the curve of his arse—

“Night, then, Lou.” Zayn manages to choke out. He lies on his side, too, facing the opposite wall to Louis and definitely _not_ filling his thoughts with the boy next to him as soon as he closes his eyes.

☯

It’s probably a few minutes that have gone by, Zayn’s sure of it. The rain has slowly stopped; the coldness of it all becoming evident, and the room gradually becoming lighter. Maybe Zayn will be in here long enough to see the sunset from the window.

“Zayn?” Louis says, voice quiet in the room.

He’s still facing away from Zayn, unmoving. If it were in the middle of the night and he had been like that for a few hours, Zayn could be certain that he was sleep talking.

“Mm?”

“Let’s throw your clothes out the window.”

Zayn looks over at the pile he’s created. Gloves, shoes, jumper and mask. There’s probably only one item there that he’d throw out the window for safety of himself. He glances over to Louis, still turned over as though he never said anything. God, he looks so small. Zayn could crawl up to him and sling an arm over his stomach, fit his legs into his and press him close to his chest.

“Okay.” He says, not even trying to ignore his thoughts.

Louis turns over at that, shifting his body so he looks at Zayn as he lies down, smiling. Zayn feels that familiar flutter again and he wants to roll his eyes at how pathetic he feels right now.

“Can I do it?” Louis asks him, voice as soft as he looks, as soft as it makes Zayn feel.

Zayn nods, “Yeah.”

Louis lets out a laugh and he sits up, suddenly filled with energy again. He moves over to the pile and picks the whole thing up. Zayn frowns, finding himself torn between telling Louis that he really only needs to throw out his mask and letting him get away with it because of the joy on Louis’ face.

Zayn snaps himself out of it. Whatever “it” is.

“Wait, though,” Zayn tells him, Louis stops and raises his eyebrows, questioning. “Drop my shoes, I’m gonna need them for later.”

Louis laughs again, “Yeah, might need those.”

He didn’t stick to the plan, he knows, and Zayn mentally kicks himself but then Louis’ curling his finger towards him, gesturing for him to get up and follow. And like a magnet or a piece of string pulling him, Zayn stands and joins him almost immediately.

“I need you to help me stand up on here.” Louis tells him, holding out his hand.

Zayn stands up on the lowest pile and takes Louis’ hand. He swallows, feeling how soft and small his hand is compared to Zayn’s. He remembers the dirty and tough things he’s had to cope with, using his hands to fix the broken from when he was young. He wonders if Louis’ lived life pretty easily, wonders how pure his brain must be.

Louis balances himself next to Zayn, carrying the pile in the other hand. He could probably do this himself, Zayn thinks, but it’s nice this way.

Step by step, they get higher until they reach the window.

“Nice display of teamwork, there, I think.” Louis says. And something in the way he says it makes Zayn wonder if he knew he could handle it all by himself as well. “Alright, you ready?”

Zayn lets out a shaky laugh, “Yeah, I guess?”

“Well, then, c’mon.” He says, and nods his head towards the window.

Zayn leans over and unlocks it, then pushes it outwards. It lets a cool breeze and the sounds of traffic wash in.

Then Zayn’s stomach drops and the colour drains from his face, looking at Louis with shock as sudden realisation kicks in.

“The window... you knew it... why didn’t you...” Zayn lets out a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. He looks around the room and struggles to level out his breathing. Louis pauses. “The window opens, it opens and you _knew_. We could’ve yelled for help, we could’ve—why didn’t you _say_ anything?”

For the first time since Zayn’s gotten to know Louis—he doesn’t have anything to say.

“ _Well_?” Zayn presses him, frowning. “Did you _want_ to be trapped inside here? Is that—is that what you wanted? Or did you just want to see me flip the fuck out and... I don’t know, get punished? Fuck, you thought I deserved this, didn’t you? I can’t fucking believe it.”

Zayn sits against the wall, sitting down on an even pile, head in hands.

A few seconds pass and Louis’ still quiet.

He can’t believe he let Louis get to him. Let himself unmask his identity and tell him things about his life. All this time, it was some sort of trap, so that when the police come he can’t run away. He’s trapped, but not only inside somewhere he can’t get out, but also trapped when he’s free—only to be locked away again.

“Is that how this was for you? A punishment?”

The words hit Zayn and he looks up to see Louis standing there, both hands holding Zayn’s jumper and mask, looking down at his feet.

The question rattles through Zayn’s brain but the answer is lost.

“Well, that’s what you wanted it to be for me, so.”

“And who’s saying that’s what I wanted for you, Zayn, who?” Louis questions, locking his eyes directly onto Zayn’s. He’s terrifying like this, crowding over Zayn and raising his voice. He thinks Louis could destroy him with one final glare. “Yes, I hated you for some time because you came into my bank and robbed it, put me in hostage, tried to strangle me, and, y’know, was very rude, but. No. This wasn’t a fucking punishment, you twat. It was an accident. And, for the absolute record, I didn’t even realise the window could open until a few moments ago, so, sorry, but try again.”

Zayn blinks, his stomach feeling ill all of a sudden. “You didn’t?”

“No.” Louis tells him. “And I’m sorry that I’m such awful company, didn’t think that this was such a bad time for you to consider it as some kind of penalty. Thanks for making me aware, though.”

Zayn feels entirely terrible. He drops his eyes to his hands and shakes his head at himself. He is a dreadful person, jumping to conclusions, snapping it at Louis so suddenly. He wants to hit himself.

Then Louis’ turning away, dropping the clothes as he goes.

Zayn’s quick to react then, and stands up in time to grab a hold of Louis’ arm. He turns Louis around and looks at him apologetically. He’s still not impressed, looking at Zayn like he’s still angry.

“You’re not awful company at all, I’m sorry.” He tells Louis, truthfully. “You’re actually, like, somebody I consider a friend now. Which, y’know, is weird because Liam’s my only friend, really. Plus his daughter, but she’s like six and it’s sorta sad to classify a six year old as a friend.” He laughs and he knows he’s rambling, can feel the heat against his cheeks. “I, uh, I’m sorry I snapped it at you. Really.”

Louis looks at him and all anger has disappeared. He sort of looks at Zayn with something like empathy, as though he feels for making Zayn apologise. Which is stupid, of course. But then Louis’ smiling softly and resting his hand against Zayn’s cheek tenderly.

It’s warm, fills Zayn with comfort and reassurance. Also something else that happens in his chest, his stomach, everywhere. But then Louis’ hand is gone and Zayn’s suddenly cold again, the breeze from the window hitting his back.

“Louis?” Zayn asks him. He thinks back to when he first laid eyes on him, how his first comment made Zayn’s blood boil. Louis looks at him and raises one eyebrow. “Why weren’t you scared of me when everybody else was?”

Louis smiles, “Oh, I was.” He tells him simply. He passes Zayn and picks up Zayn’s mask. “But, you know, not everybody needs a piece of cotton to mask themselves.”

He moves his hand towards the window, hovering the mask outside, over the town. The bank is on a hill, overlooking the rest of the town. That’s one thing that Liam had noticed before they attacked, it’s secluded from the rest of the town, Zayn, that makes it easier, he had said. He looks at Louis’ face, one that’s filled with a question mark: Do you want me to drop it?

“Yeah, go on.” Zayn tells him. Louis grins and he loosens his grip on the mask, watching as it drifts down. Zayn doesn’t have to watch it, watches Louis instead.

☯

“What’s the time, do you think?” Zayn asks.

They’re facing each other, legs stretched out with their feet pressing up against each other. They’ve made something like a fought, almost, a ship of cash that surrounds them so that they have backrests but they’re also in the middle of it all. If someone were to walk in right now, they probably wouldn’t be able to spot them in amongst it all.

Louis shrugs. “I don’t really care anymore, if I’m honest.”

Zayn wonders if that’s because he’s given up on getting free, or if he doesn’t have a reason to know the time anyway. And Zayn doesn’t really feel the need to check his phone, either.

“You know,” Louis begins, almost smiling, looking down at the floor. “I’ve always, like, wanted to know the time. Wherever I was, whatever I was doing, I always preferred a clock, like, where I could see it. I don’t know, I think I was waiting for something.” He shrugs.

“Are you still waiting?”

Louis meets his gaze and shakes his head, “I don’t think so.”

Zayn’s not sure if his stomach is supposed to flutter at that or not, but it does. He’s not sure what it means but Zayn nods as though he does.

“Hey, guess what?” Louis says, grinning. Zayn can’t help but smile, too. “You still have one more question left.”

Zayn bites his lip. Louis remembered that Zayn was only on question twenty before they stopped playing. He swallows harshly, he knows what he wants to ask Louis—whether he likes him, whether he’d be willing to continue hanging out after this, whether he still thinks of Zayn as a bad person—and he wants to make it count, he does.

So, he plucks up all the courage that he has, and asks, “Would you let me take you out? You know, after we’re found?”

Louis looks at him, slightly confused, and Zayn regrets every word that came out of his mouth. He wonders whether it’s too late to say I’m kidding! That was a joke, obviously. And his palms are starting to sweat, his eyes dart around the room, hoping that this is the time that the police barge in and save the two of them.

Then Louis’ smirking at him, a gleam in his eye, “You asking me out, Zayn?”

 Zayn smiles, awkwardly, then chokes out a laugh, “Well, like, I—“

“Don’t have a stroke on me, love. Of course I’d let you take me out.”

Something settles in his stomach but at the same time his heart is his beating out of his chest. Because Louis’ moving forward, he’s coming closer. Zayn’s breathing speeds up and he wonders when the last time he was pining this hard over somebody was. Never, he decides.

Louis sits beside him. He takes Zayn’s arm and wraps it around him, fitting easily. Louis rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder and Zayn’s at a loss at how much at ease he feels now. Usually, his heart would be out of control and his entire body would tense up—but, with Louis, it’s like nothing’s ever been easier.

A little laugh escapes Louis’ mouth, “I knew you liked me.”

“Shh, I wasn’t that obvious.” Zayn says. Louis picks his head up and quirks an eyebrow at him. He opens his mouth to speak but Zayn stops him. “And if you mention that pillow one more time, I swear to god.”

Louis tilts his head back with a laugh, filling the room with it. Zayn smiles at him, watching as Louis’ eyes crinkle at the sides, his smile brightening his entire face.

Then he stops and looks at Zayn. He leans in and quickly pecks Zayn’s cheek.

He turns away and Zayn smiles from it. He can see Louis hiding a grin, so Zayn leans over and quickly presses a kiss to Louis’ cheek.

“Hey,” Louis says, pretending to be upset, “you’re not allowed to be the cute one, too.”

“Oh, alright.” Zayn says. “No more kisses for you, then.”

He watches as Louis pouts and Zayn shrugs, and then proceeds to take his arm away from Louis’ shoulder. “No, wait, I take it back.” Louis pleads.

Zayn holds back a laugh and watches as Louis grabs a hold of Zayn’s arm, putting it around his shoulders again. Their faces are close when they face each other like this, lips inches apart, eyes even closer. Zayn could track every movement Louis makes, can even see his reflection in Louis’ pupils.

And then Louis’ eyes flicker down towards Zayn’s lips and that’s all he needs.

Zayn only nudges in a little bit closer and he presses a kiss to Louis’ mouth, and it’s not long before he gets a response. Louis presses closer, kissing back and swiping his tongue along Zayn’s bottom lip. Zayn lets him in, his hand coming up towards Louis’ hair, feeding his fingers through it.

He feels a sense of satisfaction when he feels how soft he thought it was.

Louis’ hand comes up to cup Zayn’s jaw, his finger reaching Zayn’s hair. Zayn’s other hand wraps around Louis’ waist, pulling him closer. With both their torsos twisted, and with their kiss becoming deeper, licking into each other’s mouths as though they have so much to say to each other but this is the quickest way to get it across—Zayn feels as though they could be a little more comfortable.

And Louis seems so agree with this, so he shifts himself, not breaking away, and sits himself on top of Zayn’s lap.

That’s much better, Zayn thinks. He tightens his grip in Louis’ hair and Louis lets out a sound in Zayn’s mouth. Louis’ got one of his hand resting on Zayn’s chest, bracing himself, and the other in Zayn’s hair, lightly stroking it. Zayn moves his hand that’s around his waist a little lower, just resting it above the curve of Louis’ arse.

And Louis seems to take this as a sign to start moving, so he does. His hips begin to swivel around on top of Zayn and this time, Zayn lets out a small sound, feeling the way Louis’ arse feels against him, slowly pressing downwards as Louis lightly bites Zayn’s lips.

“Damn,” Zayn says, breaking away for a few seconds, “why didn’t we spend the whole time doing this?”

Louis laughs quietly, “I know I could’ve.”

That’s when the door slides open.

“I didn’t even know this place existed!”

A voice is heard and Zayn and Louis’ eyes widen. Louis looks over the top of their tower of cash and looks back down at Zayn with a grin.

He jumps up, and lets out a shout of victory. “Niall! Harry!”

“Holy fuck, it’s Louis!”

Zayn stands.

He sees the brunette spot him first. “And...Zayn?”

They’re there with one other policeman, a big man, mid-forties, with a gun in his belt. Zayn swallows harshly.

They step over the pile and Louis immediately takes a hold of Zayn’s hand. Zayn’s nerves seem to dwindle after that.

He notices Niall and Harry looking down at their form of contact, looking at Louis, suspecting, and the blond one wiggles his eyebrows.

“Zayn? Meaning the other burglar?” The policeman asks.

The four of them go into silence. Zayn’s pretty sure his face drains of colour, his knees start to shake slightly and he accepts his fate then and there. He wonders whether they caught Liam.

Then Louis scoffs and begins to laugh, “ _Zayn_? A _burglar_?” He snorts, “Please.”

He leads Zayn outside of the room carelessly and Zayn releases a breath. They keep walking until they reach outside, where police tape covers the entire area, policemen surrounding the place.

There are news reporters and a camera crew and police talking into their walkie-talkies, with a few inside, talking to people that Zayn remembers were tied up. Zayn takes in a deep breath, he caused all of this.

“How did you find us, lads?” Louis finally asks the two boys.

“We’ve been searching for so long,” The brunette says, “after Liam escaped,” Zayn lets out a sigh of relief, “we untied everybody and asked where they might have seen you and Zayn run off to but nobody knew because of the lack of light.”

“Yeah,” The blond one says, “but then the police finally came, fixed the light, and we searched everywhere until one of them found this bloody secret room. How the hell did you guys even manage to get stuck in there?”

“Zayn strangled me,” Louis tells them, nonchalantly, squeezing Zayn’s hand, “and we stumbled in there.”

“Oh.” The brunette says. Then he gestures towards the two of them with a smile, “And, uh, how did _this_ happen?”

“It was inevitable, really.” Zayn tells them.

Louis turns to look at him, “Oh, was it, now?”

Zayn nods.

He spots Niall and Harry’s expressions, looking at them both with such awe that it...sort of makes him uncomfortable. He also feels completely guilty for tying them up.

“Sorry about, you know, earlier.” Zayn says, in almost a whisper. Just in case.

They both shrug it off, scrunching up their noses as though it was nothing. Zayn feels Louis press closer towards him.

“So, Zayn,” He says, smiling slightly, eyes brighter in the outside light. Zayn wants to kiss him again. “Where are you taking me?”

Zayn ends up taking Louis out to a restaurant that looks over a lake, with no trees outside to block their view of the sky. They make it in time to watch the sunrise, which illuminates the sky with purples and pinks, and Zayn realises that he could’ve watched it from that small little window in the bank. He only watches it for a small second, before he turns back to Louis and presses a kiss to the side of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♡ [tumblr](louiswmalik.tumblr.com) ♡


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